No One But Her Heard As The Outcast Heard
by littlebluepanda
Summary: Christine was, and will always be, the greatest diva in France. She cannot forget, nor does she entirely want to. Then on night, a letter arrives in the pouring rain, setting about a great set of events. The letter is signed O.G
1. Remember and Recollect

As you, my dear friends, may have heard, I am delighted to announce the correction to several rumours you may have heard. These, masquerading as truths from my mouth, have been terribly upsetting for my husband, le Counte de Changey, and myself. Our two children are perfectly healthy, although I do thank you for your concern. We are also –

Christine paused in her composition. To write "We are also perfectly healthy", would be a lie, now, wouldn't it? She couldn't bring her self to do it. Not after last night.

Sighed, she laid down her quill with a delicate hand. Apart from a slight paleness to her porcelain cheeks, she was well as ever. She had always been pale, but this did not change her being fair of mind or body.

She stood and glanced in the large mirror positioned next to her multiple wardrobes. A young woman – nearly twenty five – glanced back at her with wide eyes. They were an endless hazel colour, and it was obvious to anyone who looked into them how deep the truth ran within them. Her flowing curls, still their glorious golden sea that surrounded her frame with amazing effect, were spilling down her back, revealing the slimness of her body.

Sighing again, she turned away. She had to be ready soon.

Ten minutes later, as the woman was just doing up the clasp on her necklace to set off the deep red dress she was wearing, there was a knock on her door.

"Come in," Christine called, knowing it would be one of the servants, coming to tell her he was here.

As expected, Magallie appeared as the door opened. Slipping into a slight courtesy, she smiled at her master. They were good friends rather than master and servant.

"You have a visitor, Madame."

"Very good, Magallie. Please show him up here."

The young maid blinked up at her, looking rather surprised.

"Up here, Madame? To your chambers?"

"Oui, Magallie. I wish for him to be shown up here."

The girl paused a second before slipping into a courtesy again.

"Of course, Madame."

As the door clicked shut, Christine bent and picked up a large velvet drape. With an almighty swing, she placed it over the mirror, and adjusted it so that none of the glass was showing at all. She was working quickly, knowing he would be here any second. Glancing at the clock, she realised he was, as ever, completely on time, to the very second. He had said he would be in her room by eleven o'clock, and it was now ten seconds to that time. Coming up the corridor were the familiar foot steps of Magallie, and what she guessed were his. Magallie, of course, would have no idea who she was leading to her Madame's room.

It seemed like just yesterday she had been at the Opera Populaire, a young chorus girl, and then, for a short while, the resident "star". Eighteen years old, and brimming with talent, she had taken the difficult dance moves and higher notes in her stride, thinking them the greatest challenge she would ever meet. And, of course, her Angel of Music would always there to help her through anything. She knew she would always have a friend in him.

Then one night, her Angel had led an excited and nervous Christine down to his lair. It was in these amazingly crafted rooms she learnt of him. Learnt of this deformed genius.

After ripping off his mask, she had fled from him, avoiding him, until one night when her childhood sweetheart swept her up and told her he loved her, after the murder by her Angel of one of the stage hands. She had returned his love, and he proposed, with her, of course, accepting.

But a storm was building she could feel it. Something was going to happen, and, after two more attempts to lure Christine away, Raoul, the Vicounte, decided something had to happen.

On the night of the performance of the Phantom's opera, police were stationed to shoot him. Christine had ripped off his mask again, this time on the stage. They had descended to her lair, were the Angel had then threatened to kill Raoul after his arrival to rescues Christine, if she did not stay with him forever.

In desperation, not just for herself, but for her fallen Angel, she kissed him, twice. Shocked and amazed, the Angel let her and her lover go, with tears falling in great rivers down his deformed face.

But Christine had returned a few minutes later, to give him back the ring he had once stolen from her. He told her, through song, that he loved her. And she knew that no matter where she went, she could never forget him. Deep down inside, she knew that in so many ways, she loved him too, no matter what he did.

And now she was about to receive him for the first time in nearly seven years.

Last night she had received a letter. Raoul was out of town, so the house was almost deserted, with the children both in bed. The servants kept mainly to the quarters, although Christine would tell them there was no need. She did this mainly for her own company. She knew they should stay to their quarters through ranks, but she did hate being alone.

It had been raining, and a servant girl had come running to her mistress with the letter clutched in her white hand. She had looked terrified, and Christine insisted she went to the kitchen to have a cup of hot tea with Brandy in to calm her.

When the girl had returned to her duties, Christine also returned to hers. Sitting on her dressing stool in her main chamber, she read the lettering, before turning it over to view the seal. Her stomach flipped. She recognized this.

Hands shaking, she pulled out the sheet of parchment within. Yet more fear gripped her as she realized the hand that had written this was no steady. He couldn't be…?

"My dear Christine,

We have not spoken for many years, and I can, without doubt, understand your distance from me. But now, I contact you. I need to speak to you Christine. It is very important. I would not plague you with my presence if it was not. I will be in your chambers by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. I will not be there for long.

I remain, Madame, your faithful servant

O.G"

Now the letter sat on her dressing table, as she, once again, sat on the stool, awaiting his arrival. Christine took several deep breathes, trying to calm her frayed nerves. Maybe this hadn't been the best of ideas. She could have run, she could run now-

The knocking came just as suddenly as her thoughts.

Struggling to find her breath, she organized her skirts once more, before almost gasping, "Come in!"

The door opened and closed and in the shadow she could see him. Just.

"Good morning, Madame." His voice was as enchanting as ever, but weak.

"Good morning, Monsieur." She rose now and started to walk. To her surprise, he moved to her. His face was half covered with its ever present mask, but it was not this that surprised her. The other side of his face was drawn and gaunt.

"Oh my," She whispered, then, before either of them could object, she threw herself at him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

He stood rigid for a few seconds, before relaxing slightly, and bringing a shaking arm up to curve around the small of her back. His other hand reached up and stroked her mass of curls, remembering oh to well how she used to love it when the other girls had stroked her hair. It had always calmed her down.

"Hello, Christine." He whispered, his head balanced on hers.

"I've missed you, Angel." She whispered back, and held him tighter.

They stood, holding each other for what could have been hours or minutes. Christine had closed her eyes, resting her sublime head under the Phantoms own. He had also closed his eyes, and a smile was evident on his weakened face.

Slowly, he pulled back from her to look her in the eye. She blushed slightly under such good natured scrutiny. The smile on his face reached even his eyes, and they sparkled.

"Please," She murmured, looking away from his face, "do sit down. You do not look as well as I remember…"

He gave a short laugh, and her heart seemed to lighten a hundred fold. But still he sat, and she, after hesitating, took her place on her stool again. He looked at her from the much plumped arm chair he had positioned himself on.

"You, on the other hand, my Angel, look better than I can recall."

Yet again a flush reached her cheeks and she replied with a light, "Merci."

Silence filled the room for a moment, but it was not uncomfortable. Both members looked away from the other, yet revealing in their company. Even after so many years, and after so many terrible events, they both, after all, loved each other. In one way or another, they had desperately missed each other. Both, however, were too democratic and disciplined to say anything of the sort.

Finally, Christine looked up.

"What has brought you here, my friend?"

The man gave a half smile, and brought his head back up to meet her eyes.

"Before we begin, Christine, I must insist on something."

"Oui, Monsieur?"

"My name is Erik."


	2. Author Note

That's the first chapter for any readers, and I have been told about the spelling mistakes. From now on, I will be doing my own editing! My friend went through and changed the spellings, believing she was doing me a favour.

Anyway, I'm going away now for two weeks, but please read and review, with any comments you may have. I'm working on the next chapters while I'm away, so I promise three long chapters when I get back.

A few questions to consider while I am gone:

Why is Erik there?

What effect will what he has to say have on Christine?

What effect will it have on the children and Raoul?

What will happen when Christine finds out something from the past… which has all possibility of destroying her future?

Keep you guessing! Please emjoy and comment.

Love, hope and blessings,

LittleBluePanda

xxx


	3. Fallen Angel

A/N: Hello, everyone, sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter up, as I said, I've been away. Things take a more dramatic turn here, but wait for the next chapter to have questions answered….

Christine smiled. Erik. _Her Angel's name was Erik…_

"Erik," She whispered, and he nodded again, "It suits you."

Once more his half-smile appeared. It had been a rarity to see him smile at the Opera, she remembered. He had, and always would be, an amazingly intimidating presence, both to the chorus girls who heard tales of him, but even more so to those who were graced into his company. There was just something about him, and Christine, even now, could not put her finger on it. For years, as a child, teenager and young adult, she had been alone with him, in sprit, at times as often as once a week. She had longed for his comings, waited anxiously for her lessons, excited as any normal child would be at Christmas, or at a birthday. But Christine neither counted these nor looked forward to them after her father died. Even now, with children of her own, and a legacy to her now, she missed him with a physical pain in her chest. But her Angel had lessened it greatly, as if he was sharing half her burden. He had spoke kind words to her when the other girls had been cruel, had sung her so softly to sleep when she had been crying, had taught her so many things…

Had tried to capture her and kill her husband.

She gasped at loud in shock of how painfully strong that memory still was. It was always there, of course. Those days, hours, minutes that the Phantom – that Erik – had kept her captured, formed a vast whirlpool of agony within her. She did love Raoul, and she could never bear to see him hurt. But this man, Phantom, Angel, or whatever he might be, had taught her everything. And she did, for all his afflictions, for all his unmerciful and wrong actions, love him.

"Christine?"

She jumped back to reality with another painful gasp, to find Erik now kneeling in front on her, his hands wrapped around hers, and his face locked deep in concern.

"Christine?" He asked again and she could this time feel the panic in his tone. She thought numbly how well he normally concealed his emotions.

"Yes." She answered weakly. "I am here."

"Are you alright, Angel?" His soft tone made her look him in the eye. In them she saw so many emotions: pain, worry, sadness, hurt… love.

"I am, thank you." She nodded so slightly it was barely visible.

His hands stayed gripped around hers. She trusted him. His hands, as ever, were cold, wrapped in their black gloves, which added no heat to the skin beneath them.

Erik stayed in front of her for a few minutes more, then stood abruptly and moved to his seat. The suddenness of his movement made Christine jump again, and her eyes whirled to meet his.

The man was not looking at her, but at the covered window to his left, and she could not tell anything about his emotions, save that he was deep in thought. They both sat in silence, Christine observing him, and he staying locked in his mind.

"You did not pull away," He said gently.

She frowned, causing a ripple in the beautiful material of her face.

"What?"

He turned round to face her again, and with a wave of horror she realised there were tears pouring down his face.

"I held you hands in mine and… you did not pull away."

"Oh, Angel," She cried, and was next to him in a second, her arms around him once more. She could feel him sobbing lightly on her shoulder and she struggled to retain her own.

"I would never pull away, Erik." She murmured.

So many thoughts were running through her mind. The absurdity of the situation had not as of yet, she would consider that latter. The idea that she was hugging and holding the Phantom of the Opera would also strike her as amazingly obscure later, she was sure. But he was in pain. Mentally, and yet, she sensed, physically. Something was wrong. Deeply, terrifyingly wrong. Christine had no idea at all what it could be, but the feeling of unknowing only added to the fear she already had. And there was, inside, only one thing Christine knew to do in this situation. And that was –

Suddenly, she became aware of his irrational breathing. Glancing up at his face, she realised his eyes were closed and his breathing sounded rather like someone was muffling him, like a wad of material had been stuffed into his mouth… like a lasso was around his neck.

"Erik?"

He didn't even acknowledge her voice. His eye lids fluttered very slightly, but his breathing became more of a raspy movement than an intake of air.

"Erik!"

This time she pulled back and grabbed him by the shoulders. His eyes flew open, and then squinted as if trying to shut again. By the second his breathing was becoming worse, and Christine was becoming more and more desperate.

She looked closer now, terrified, to see his pale face damp and ashamed. Biting her lip, she whispered, "Forgive me."

Then she reached up and pulled off his mask.

He tried with a tiny movement to weld her off, but she barely noticed this or the deformed face which used to bring her so much terror. Right now her only thoughts were of Erik, and of making sure he was proper.

Acting quickly, she moved to her draws. Erik slumped slightly without her support. It was his state that was scaring her most. The Phantom had always been such an imposing force upon the young girls of the opera. Even once she had known him, he had always been in such control, not only of himself, but of situations, of other people around him. But now, the legendary Phantom was slumped over in a chair, struggling to breathe and semi-conscious. Rattling through the many bottles and potions she had, she finally found a wad of linen and a small box of smelling salts.

Wrapping them up, she hurried back to him, and held the lavender scented pouch under his almost non-existent nose. It caused him to take a deep shuddering breath, and more live seemed to enter his eyes.

"Its okay," She whispered, "I will take care of you." A small smile crept onto her lips. "You were my protector for a long time, Angel. Now it is my turn to protect you."

She slipped an arm around his waist and Erik twisted his head slightly to try and give her a helpless look. Struggling under his weight, she somehow dragged him through to the conjoining bedroom and placed him, as delicately as she could, onto her large bed.

After adjusting him so he was sitting up slightly, and making him hold the pouch of salts, she rushed out again. Once more entering another adjoining room, this time a bathroom, Christine filled a silver bowl with cool water and grabbed another wad of linen, before rushing back to her friends side.

Dampening the cloth, she held it to his forehead. Still, she barely acknowledged the disfiguration to his face. It meant nothing to her, sincerely, at this moment. Perhaps, when he had recovered, the shock would strike her, but she would be able to deal with that once he was well.

It was hard to believe, despite her heart brushing over her mind, what was happening. Hard to take in. Laughingly confusing. The ghost of the Opera Populaire, laying in a damnable state should any man have walked in at that time. Christine was partially aware of Raoul's return in three days time. He was not to know, she decided firmly. After all, she was looking after a friend. This, Christine knew, was not the type of visit Erik had been intending. He could not have seen that he was to fall ill. She would care for him, even if he had, until he was well enough. Despite having servants in the household, it was not uncommon for Christine to care for Raoul or the children should they fall ill. She had even, on occasion, cared for a few of the servants when they became seriously ill. Being too poor to call for a doctor, they had waited until the Comte was out of the château and then ran for Christine's help. It wasn't that Raoul didn't like helping the servants. He had asked many a time if they were happy, for, although he was a dutiful man, he was also a genuinely kind man, and cared for the well being of all within his care, be them servants or his family.

Well, Christine thought firmly, Erik is in my care now. And I will care for him as best as I know how.

By now his breathing was more regulated. Erik's face, as pale and malformed as it was, held all the emotions of the world. It was placid at present. But his eyes stayed locked on her as she continued to bathe his head. She didn't meet them.

At one point, he made an attempt to move the salts away. She took them from him and placed them by the side of her, next to the water bowl, on the fine ebony cabinet. He made a move to speak, however, and she silenced him quickly.

"Hush, Angel. You will be well enough to speak soon enough. All this will be resolved. But, for now, please – get some rest. We will talk later. I will come in to see how you are in a few hours time."

She stood, then paused, and turned back round, kissing him softly on the forehead. Then, with a silent smile, she walked out of her chamber, closing the door behind her.


End file.
